


but we dance to the music

by atreacherousoldwitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Always-a-girl!Remus, Developing Relationships, Drabble, Family, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Rule 63, alternative universe, but hopefully you enjoy, gigs, hints at Sirius Black/Remus Lupin but could be platonic, i don't even know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atreacherousoldwitch/pseuds/atreacherousoldwitch
Summary: Harry had certain ideas about what kind of gig Remus would choose for them.He’s completely wrong.Post POA AU - Sirius and Remus raise Harry, with bonus always-a-girl!Remus.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	but we dance to the music

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So … not sure where this one came from tbh! I had this idea rattling around in my head, and I thought it might make an interesting drabble, so I gave it a go. 
> 
> One of the things I find interesting in the books, is that because we see things through Harry’s eyes, a lot of the adults often appear older than they are. Especially the teachers. Remus is only 33 in POA, and that’s still pretty young, so I wanted to explore Harry realising that. Kinda similar to the way that when you’re little and you see a teacher outside of school it really blows your mind. I’m working on a longer fic with always-a-girl!Remus that I’m really excited about, and this is sort of an outtake from that. So in this AU, the events of POA still happened, but Sirius has been found innocent. Remus is (and always has been) a girl, and they’ve ended up with a house and custody of Harry. Harry’s around 14/15. I imagined Remus and Sirius as ‘not quite a couple, but getting there’ in this fic, but you could definitely read it as platonic/just friends. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

————

If Harry closes his eyes, slows his breathing and lies silently in his bed, he can hear Sirius moving around downstairs.

It feels a bit like a dream.

More than once he wakes in a panic, heart pounding, beating a bruise on the inside of his rib cage, expecting his aunt and uncle to call him. He can still hear it in his mind, sometimes, etched into his ear drums, the shout of his name, demanding breakfast. Can still feel the frying pan on the side of his head. 

But it never comes.

One morning, early in the summer, he sleeps until gone eleven thirty, and when he stumbles out of bed, dazed and sleepy and _apologetic_ , Sirius just folds him into a hug and cooks him breakfast. Harry doesn’t think he ever realised how tired he was _all the time,_ until he came here to this house on the coast where he can rest.

It’s the beginning of July, and the days are long and lazy, and their house is nearly fully furnished. Finally.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to feel, when he wakes in his room that _he_ chose, and heads downstairs and see the pictures _he_ helped pick out, eats off the plates _he_ wanted.

He likes it.

He likes it a lot.

They’re sat outside, in the little garden, around the rickety table having breakfast.

It’s mid morning, because Remus and Sirius don’t get up early unless they have to, and the table is full of bacon and sausage and orange juice, and it’s so domestic and normal that it hurts like an ache in his stomach if Harry thinks about it too long.

They’ve just finished eating. Sirius is pursuing the paper, and Remus is starting to clear the plates away, when she comes back to the table with an envelope.

Remus sits, looking apprehensive. She runs her fingers along the edge of the envelope, and then hands it over to Harry.

Sirius looks up from the paper.

‘This is for you,’ Remus says to Harry, ‘or, for all of us. But I bought them for you.’

And she gestures for him to open it, and Sirius peers over interestedly.

It’s -

In the envelope are three tickets, for a band he doesn’t recognise. He immediately spots that the age limit says 18+, clearly in the right hand corner.

‘You said you’d never been to a gig or a concert before,’ Remus explains, softly. ‘I thought it might be fun.’

Sirius reads over Harry’s shoulder, and says ’I don’t know them.’

‘They’re good. You’ll like them. Kinda punk-y. Muggle. They’re playing London at the end of the month. Helga and the Goblins are playing the week before, but the dates - the dates didn’t work for me. You two could go though.’

Sirius is already shaking his head, and Harry says ‘nah. They sound cool.’

‘Awesome. I’m looking forward to it,’ Sirius says smiling, with a sort of finality.

Remus smiles.

————

Harry had certain ideas, about what kind of gig Remus would choose for them.

He’s wrong.

Completely wrong.

They have to smuggle him in, because he’s obviously not 18, but Remus isn’t as concerned by this as Harry thinks she might be.

The gig is -

_Loud._ He can feel the bass vibrating in his chest, and people, hundreds, maybe, of people, are pressed close together around them and he starts to panic just a bit.

But then Sirius, as natural as breathing, elbows some guys over, and leans back against the railing. He loops an arm around Harry and pulls him back against Sirius’ chest. Harry perches awkwardly for a moment, but Sirius doesn’t look like he’s going to let go, and with Remus stood in front of them Harry’s pretty well shielded from the drunk people all around them.

So Harry relaxes against Sirius, and lets Sirius’ tapping legs rock them both in time with the music.

By the time the actual band come on, Harry’s settled.

The air prickles on his skin, and if he didn’t know better he would say it was magic. The air is _alive,_ crackling like a jinx gone wrong or even like _electricity,_ the kind of static that builds and then snaps.

He doesn’t know the songs, but Remus does. He can see her singing along.

When she turns to look at them, check that they’re ok, she seems young. Younger than Harry thought she was. And when she smiles it takes Harry’s breath away, because he never could have imagined the school teacher he first met would be here, in a leather jacket and big boots singing at the top of her lungs to some punk band but here she is.

It feels like he’s seeing the real her, for the first time.

Sirius’ arm is warm and heavy where it rests over Harry’s front, Sirius’ hand tapping Harry’s side in time to the music.

And then this song comes on, and Harry realises _he’s heard this one before._

It takes a moment, straining, sifting through his pre-Hogwarts memories, until he finds it. A summer evening, loitering in a car park in Surrey, and music playing from a nearby bar. He’d liked the song then, a lot, had hummed it to himself for quite a while after, but he’d never really known the words.

Remus has her eyes closed, her head tilted up, and the singer shouts a rally against poverty, sings about travelling and dancing when you get there, and -

He has no words to describe it.

It’s _incredible._

The whole crowd shout the words, and the guitar rises, and some instrument that Harry thinks might be a flute and one that might be a fiddle, and it all screams to the sky and he’s rocking in time with the music, his knee keeping time without his conscious effort. When Remus turns to look at them, he catches her eye and whatever light he sees in her face, she must see in his, because she smiles, so wide and beautiful and she turns her back to the stage and sings to him.

And so, fumbling a bit, he tries to sing back.

She comes close. They don’t really touch, him and Remus, because they’ve had a hard time breaking out of their teacher-student roles. She’s awkward with him, and Harry doesn’t always know where he stands.

Sirius’ displays of emotions are embarrassing and over the top, but at least Harry _knows_ how much Sirius wants him here. With Remus, he never really does.

Except now, with Harry singing, trying to keep up with something about sailing, Remus looks like he’s handed her a priceless present. She reaches out, tentatively, and takes his hand and Harry clings on tight, so she comes closer and it’s the three of them huddled together, in a crowd of thousands, Harry and Remus and Sirius, and it feels _right._

When Harry tilts his head to look up at Sirius, his godfather is beaming, wide and bright and he looks young and whole, as if his time in hell was nothing and this, this was the only thing in the world.

Harry never wants it to end.

It does, but when they get home, to their home, it doesn’t disappear.

Remus puts her arms around Harry, and Sirius wraps his arms around both of them, and they stand close together. It’s late - the sky is dark and the evening is hot, with a warm breeze flowing from the open windows. They all stink of sweat and beer and smoke, and Harry rests his head on Remus’ shoulder for the first time, and she tucks her face into his hair, presses a kiss to the side of his head.

It feels like family, Harry realises. Like they’re a family.

And then he thinks, maybe they are.

————

END.

————


End file.
